Читать книгу Suzanne - Anais Barbeau-Lavalette - Страница 42

You are eighteen years old.

You have polished your ankle boots, and you are wearing a boater Claudia has given you for the occasion. Achilles has shaved his beard and put on cologne. He won’t tell you he is proud of you, but you know he is.

You say goodbye to him as if you were leaving to go far away for a long time.

You board the train, hanging on to your small suitcase. Your palm is clammy.

You walk down the aisle, glancing at faces as you go. Your eyes leave a mark, but you don’t know it yet. Something you got from your father: piercing eyes that leave an impression.

From outside the window, Achilles watches you go. His big girl is such a good speaker and is off to speak in Montreal. You sit down and look at him. He looks like he’s going to cry, but he is old enough to have watery eyes, so you’re not sure.

The train starts up, and already you’re not looking at your father. You are looking ahead.

The scenery rolls by and disappears in the distance. You calmly take in everything. For the first time, you feel like this is where you should be. Where things are moving.

Hours pass but you don’t get tired, your body calmed by the forward movement.

Anything is possible now.

You stand, sovereign. And you walk slowly down the aisle of the rocking train. You are rooted, enduring.

You take a look around. As you walk, you come across a man on his own, dozing.

You sit next to him. Your thigh brushes his. You watch him sleep. His head bobs in time with the train. You gently take his jaw and move it toward the hollow of your shoulder, which you offer to him.

He stays there for a while and then surfaces. You bore your eyes into him. You don’t need to smile at him. You introduce yourself: ‘I’m Suzanne.’

He takes you in all at once, all of you, too much woman on offer to him. He stammers his name, which you don’t remember, because you don’t care. Finally you smile at him before getting up and moving on to another solitary man.